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Law and disorder

A mean streak is running through society. That happens now and again. Remember the hardhats of the 60s and its unofficial anthem, “Okie From Muskogee?” No matter that Merle Haggard who co-wrote and performed the popular C & W tune insists it was a satire on the “America Love it Or Leave it crowd.”

That is as good as any reason for what seems to be non-stop flailing of young black men by police. Right now I’m hearing on CNN about a black man being found hanging from a tree in Mississippi. What is this, the 1920 Cracker South? We don’t know why the man, a convicted felon, was found hanging from a tree. Is it an old-fashioned lynching or some pissed off gang members of color?

Don’t get me wrong. Those of us happy, misguided, optimists who thought the warm fuzzy feeling just after Barack Obama was elected the first black American president certainly have the reason to feel let down. The right-wing sound machine and the Internet has managed to make the angry white Americans even more pissed off. I see it. It can’t be denied.

But why cops are beating the crap out of or shooting dead young black men may not be what it seems. Oh yeah, some cops equate young black men with “perps.” You don’t see that on “Cops” where a cop tells a perp he is cuffing “don’t resist” even though the suspect is so powerless underneath the police that he has no opportunity to resist. But read this disturbing story about mean police who, if their actions weren’t so deadly would be called “Keystone Cops.” Sorry for the very dated reference but you can get the drift.

These guys are equal opportunity thugs who happen to wear uniforms. They are generally the dullest pencils in the box, hired for political reasons. Add in some instances are taught by trained killers who have left the military for greener — as in money — pastures.

The 24-hour media focuses solely on black men or rather black kids because it raises hackles. And it should.

But there is something even more sinister than racist cops, if you can imagine it. These are cops, some of whom are serial killers and they still ride in their cruisers carrying their high-powered weapons.

I’ll stop here. Just read the excellent Rolling Stone story about a very disturbing American police department. I read it and I was shocked. I mean, seriously. I was so pissed. If you have half a soul you will feel that way as well.

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Is that a handgun you are packing …

“I’m warming up my signing pen: Texas Legislature Ready to Move Forward on Open Carry Bill,” — Texas Gov. Greg Abbott

Well, isn’t that just special? Our governor Tweeted this on Sunday and it does seem like Texas is a few paces away — metaphorically speaking — from having more guns out in the public than cow pies.

The Texas Senate approved its version of a comprehensive handgun bill that touches many of the aspects of openly carrying pistols, many of which are not new. But, toting a handgun openly in public itself being new, the Senate legislation among numerous other provisions would codify the “school marshal” program as well as establishes some new punishments for both citizens and businesses.

Kids, you damn well better get that homework in on time!

A companion bill is being crafted in the Texas House which, for now at least, would allow the possession and openly carrying of handguns on college campuses. Whether the law itself, allowing those licensed to carry concealed handguns in plain view, is not somewhat full of holes some opponents claim the “campus carry” provision is a recipe for disaster.

It seems likely that what new Texas governor Abbott eventually signs will displease many and not just the anti-gun crowd. A portion of proponents for open carry are not particularly your “half-a-loaf” bunch. The most ardent supporters for open carry was for openly carrying anything, anywhere at anytime.

The most vocal and, perhaps to some, scary, of this group are those who carry long guns such as shotguns and rifles. The latter in this category includes semi-automatic rifles as as the AR-15 and AK-47. The open-carry-on-steroids group are likewise the most puzzling of the pro-gun group. In Texas, most people in most places can carry shotguns or rifles if they aren’t prohibited locally. While pro-nut gun advocates may seek a constitutional amendment for the right to carrying long guns, which would require voter approval, the fear factor this group causes could come back to bite them — or shoot them — in the butt.

Firearms appear to rally many of the crowd who believe the President is already from Kenya and wants to establish a dictatorship. Who knows what next, perhaps even take their white women. But not everybody who favors having guns think “shootin’ arms” should be everywhere all the time. You may count me in that group.

One problem I foresee is how to assuage fears which might instantly surface upon seeing that the good ol’ boy carrying a .357-Magnum, the quiet man packing a Colt .45 who appears as if he stepped off the “Men of ISIS” layout in Syria Today, or the large Bro sitting in the corner who looks like he could pound you in the dirt even if he wasn’t carrying a .40-caliber. Yes, stereotypes all and you know we don’t possess those.

How will you know someone carrying a handgun in a shoulder holster really is licensed to do so? Blind faith? And I’m not talking about the first British “supergroup” comprised of Eric Clapton, Ginger Baker, Ric Grech and Steve Winwood. Are you going to ask some man in a sub shop whether he is just exercising his Second Amendment right or is he planning to hold the place up?

It is about to get interesting as Texas likely reverts to the Old West. I think I will just order in.

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Good gourmet burger? Beets me.

Mine eyes have seen less glory in the last two decades due to aging, heredity or for whatever reasons that might develop. I started out with prescription glasses but eventually found I could do just fine with cheap reading glasses that somewhere along the way have been dubbed as “cheaters.”

I usually take my glasses along if I anticipate reading. Often times I don’t take them and later wish I had. Then sometimes it doesn’t really make a big ice sculpture whether I do or don’t need classes.

Most times I have glasses when I visit a place to eat that I have not previously visited. There is no telling what type of font or print size on a menu one might find nor may one predict the lighting. Even with glasses, especially cheaters, I might not possess the ability to read a menu with ease. Who knows what one might order.

But last week while staying at a Marriott near Houston’s Galleria I did not have a clue where I wanted to eat or what I wanted to eat. I was by myself, I was on foot — I have been told by a doctor to stay off my feet for more than a month ago due to a foot ulcer — so I likewise chose not to venture far.

As it turned out, there was a little strip center just around the corner from where I was staying. It was actually across the street from the huge mall but I had already taken one tour, at least partially, through the center. So I was pretty tired and was hungry.

I try not to eat more than a burger a week, it being my favorite, for weight and health issues. Although, sometimes a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. Using such irreversible logic, I decided upon a darkened little restaurant called the Burger Palace and Bistro.

The sign on the window made mention of its being Houston’s best destination for 100 percent Akaushi American Kobe beef. That pedigree being mentioned I could see dollars slowly fading from my debit card. Having been a hamburger cook at a 4-star flea market cafe — hey when I say “4-star” what they hell does it mean anyway? — I could cook a burger that would make Wendy and Ronald McDonald go into hiding.

Now all sectors of the farming and ranching industry these days put out all kinds of smack about their food. An old friend from high school works as a PR guy for a statewide farm association and he is on the warpath with the anti GMO folks. Me I could care less. Two things food is basically about. One is sustenance. The other is taste. Then, somewhere down the line is health. And yes, I agree, that is three. So sue me!

I must’ve been lost somewhere down the line. But all these foreign names for beef don’t impress me. That is why I chose the Mitsubishi, sorry, I mean Akaushi, which is a strain of Japanese cattle. Kobe originally meant beef sold by tall, dark professional basketball players. No, just joking. It’s a city in Japan, silly.

Once inside the Burger Palace, back to no glasses, I could hardly see what was on the menu. Out of the 50 or so imported beers, I did make out “Estrella Damm” as the kind of light Spanish beer I might like to have with or before my dinner. It was a nice light beer, reminiscent of Olympia, which was the only American beer I could find worth a damn in Asia back in the Navy. And way back before Oly became synonymous with Old Milwaukee,

Speaking of the Navy, I visited a few ports in Australia back when I rode a destroyer in the Western and Southern Pacific. That nation had some delightful oddities in their food and it had nothing to do with chewing rough kangaroo feet. Australians had some great variations on food we ate as a matter of routine in the U.S. Among that cuisine was fried eggs or pineapple slices on their hamburgers.

Australians also were very fond of beets — they call them “beetroot” — and found them to be a very fitting additive to a hamburger. I ate eggs and pineapple on Aussie food, but I never tried beets. It just didn’t seem right. Not on a hamburger. Not in my stomach.

But last week in the Burger Palace and Bistro, at 2800 Sage Road, #1100, I tried beets on my burger, called the what else? the “Down Under.” Here is what comes on your burger, mate:

“Grilled Pineapple, White Cheddar, Roasted Beets, Fried Egg with Duck Fat or olive oil & Homemade Aioli.” Aioli is a garlic-flavored yolk sauce. I don’t know if there was any “duck fat” on it. I hope not.

But it was a very delicious burger. The beet left a reddish color to the bun and the gooey-ness made the sandwich somewhat difficult to navigate as a hand food. But it was just as good eaten with a fork.

The burger, which I ordered with a side of upright fries, was $10.95. The imported beer and tip came out to about $20. It was kind of pricey for a quick meal alone. But This seemed to be favored by couples and small groups.

The menu displays a variety for just about anyone’s pallette including vegans. Just tell them to leave off the duck fat.

The Burger Palace and Bistro
2800 Sage Rd., #1100
Houston, Texas 77056
(713)877-9700
Monday-Saturday 11a.m.-10 p.m.
Closed: Sunday
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Hither and yon. Or how the hell did this post possibly turn out this long?

Here are some thoughts flowing hither and yon in my linguini today:

To tell the whole story in a bottle will take too long. Shall I just say that I spent the night in Houston and had a cardiology appointment yesterday at the VA Hospital? It amounted to talking with a physician’s assistant who said I needed another echo-cardiogram. Why couldn’t they just tell me to get the test? I already had one echo and it showed I had some enlarging on the right side of my heart. The cardiologist I had dealt with previously said an enlarging on the right side wasn’t anything needing attention right then and there. The doctor’s suspicion was that it had to do with my sleep apnea. I had recently received a new CPAP machine,  a computer memory card I sent the sleep folks said I was still showing a high incidence of sleep apnea. Jeez Louise. It’s always something. I’m facing possible toe surgery and any kind of surgery does not make me do flips of joy. And neither does any kind of heart abnormality make me want to dance.

Continuing my story, I found that using the Houston Metro light rail is a pretty good way to get around in conjunction with the bus. That is at least true for most areas I normally travel around Houston. The rail is expanding with two lines under construction and two others planned. Right now the system is a 12.8-mile route that includes stops ranging from the northern part of the city to just outside the I-610 Loop South along Fannin Street. Just prior to the Loop and Red Line terminus is a stop just outside NRG Stadium and the “old” Astrodome.

I found living in and around Dallas for a time that good public transit systems keep time with little deviation. Dallas became a much better city to navigate once the light rail was finished. It has been years since I rode a city bus up there. Houston also has a decent bus system, hopefully the expansion of light rail will make the transit system gel much better. As it is now, I am able to get around on buses in Houston and jumping off at rail stations to take me to another point somewhat faster.

The wheels of the bus go ’round and ’round … though not too quickly. I’m talking about Greyhound in Houston, not Houston Metro. I rode the bus to Houston and back to Rose City – a tiny spot on I-10 — just east of Beaumont in Orange County. It is designated the “Beaumont-Vidor” bus station. I have no idea why they moved the station way out in the middle of nowhere from what was, at least a bus station, on Magnolia Avenue in Beaumont.

My bus back yesterday got going 30 minutes late. It isn’t a big surprise. Some people at the Houston Greyhound station are, well, let’s just say they aren’t pleasant people. They wanted me to show my ID three times before boarding the bus. It would have been four times had the security person been at his area. I waited a minute or two, he never came, I just walked in. The Greyhound lady, who must have had a rough commute on her broom that morning, said those tickets printed at home as I presented can be easily copied. My question, the little bucks one gets off the price, what really is the advantage?

Once the bus was about to leave — a new driver getting OJT with the driver who drove on my trip to Houston — the decision was made for a late-coming Mamma, her baby and the baby Mamma’s Mamma. Baby Mamma asked one dude if he would move so she could sit down with her little baby. He said no, which he really shouldn’t have done. But the Baby Mamma then unleashed a shrill attack on the stubborn dude, calling him all kinda ghetto names. First, the experienced driver told the two parties to get off the bus. Nobody wanted to move, so the invisible security guy came up inside the bus. He was joined by some other guy who looked as if he might be a U.S. Marshal or a undercover cop and finally got the parties off the Greyhound without any rough stuff. But the Greyhound folks decided after talking to the guy who had argued with Baby Mama to let him back on the bus. Meanwhile, Baby Mamma, Baby and Baby Mamma’s Mamma were “outta there.” What a freaking mess! Can’t we all just get along?

Well, I’m back in B-town, what I don’t call Beaumont. I am about ready to leave this place, but that’s another story for another day.

Oh, at least Greyhounds have electric plugs to recharge phones and other devices these days! And both Greyhound and Metro have mobile apps. Not the best in the world, but somewhat decent.

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Poor impulse control? No impulse control? Whatever!

Impulse is a word that appears as imparting more bad than good. It would be my guess that people these days seem to associate the word in its psychological form and specifically dealing with “poor impulse control” as in criminal acts. Specifically, the criminal acts – thanks to TV programs such as “Law and Order: Special Victims Unit” associated with sex.

But impulse, that dealing with human behavior, is not always negative. Indeed there are some wonderful aspects of life that are constructed due to impulse. Of course, circumstances in which impulse may be great in the same manner may be, well, let’s say not so good. Take for instance life in one of its basic forms: birth.

While it is true that birth control has slowed down the numbers of babies resulting from the impulsive act of, as Bob Seger so aptly put it, “the Horizontal Bop.” So called “unprotected sex” not to mention faulty birth control methods still produce the little “surprise.” Some might see that little surprise as surprise!:) or as surprise:/OMG!

Not to get off the point, but doesn’t unprotected sex seem as quite a harsh expression? The phrase evokes showing up to the bed encased in a latex body suit. Or maybe a suit of armor. Let’s say you are just sitting there slowly rusting away from the humidity of the room while awaiting for the fair damsel to arrive with the key to her chastity belt. Quaint.

It also would be interesting to see studies of children of those with “poor” impulse control. Do they have a plan for everything ranging from taking a shit to having the car serviced?

I heard the Steve Winwood song “Roll With It” today while sitting in the IHOP and the title made me think of my impulsive life, good and bad, but mostly good. I never suspected, by the way, that I would do a phone interview with one of that song’s writers. Will Jennings has written or co-written for what seems like a “Who’s Who” of popular music. He co-wrote most popular songs recorded by Winwood, after the artist’s younger years spent with the group Traffic. I interviewed Jennings after he received Song of the Year honors at the Grammys for “Tears In Heaven,” which he co-wrote with Eric Clapton. Jennings came across as warm and unpretentious, which his friends from the college he attended and taught – my alma mater Stephen F. Austin — said were typical.

Oh, while I’m name dropping, most who know me understand I was far from a George Dubya Bush fan. However, I am proud of having interviewed him when he was head of the Texas Rangers baseball team. I was unmolested by handlers and Secret Service, which were prevalent while covering several events while he was president. I was actually part of the press pool a couple of times during visits he made home to Crawford, Texas. And I did get wet once. Pool, wet, get it? That was from waiting in the rain for the Secret Service to do their sweep of the church where I would attend services with the first family. In between baseball and the presidency, I also covered I don’t know how many events while GWB was governor. The same goes for Ricky Bob Perry.

I have had many good times doing the impulsive. And I never did anything to land me in prison. Well, let me rephrase that. I was never imprisoned for anything and kind of leave it at that.

And I did a few impulsive acts I wish I hadn’t. They mostly cost me money or made me feel awkward the next day. I will kind of leave that at that.

Just remember, my friends, there is no explanation better than leaving matters at that. Or maybe that isn’t so. It’s all according to how your boogaloo situation stands, you understand, as if you ever heard “Clap for the Wolfman.”